“I’m glad you’re early,” he said, and I focused on the dish towel slung over his shoulder.
“Only by eight minutes.”
“Come in.”
I went in, and he kissed me gently before closing the door. The hallway smelled like cumin, chili pepper, onions, and something sweeter that I identified after two seconds as butter. I noticed a Yankees magnet on the inside of the front door and one coat hanging from a coat rack. On the wall was a framed photo of a younger Dane in a Little League uniform standing next to a man with the same jaw as Dane. I stood still and looked at it for longer than I had meant to.
“My dad,” Dane said behind me.
“You look like him.”
“You can keep your shoes on if you want. I’m not religious about it.”
“It’s okay,” I said, and sat on the bench in the hallway to carefully unlace both shoes, lining them up parallel under the bench. Sable sat at my knee. Dane crouched in front of her and offered her the back of his hand. She bumped him with her nose and then leaned her shoulder against his shin.
“You hungry?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good. Come see my famous chili. Oh, and Eli sent cheesecake.”
He served the chili in two heavy ceramic bowls with a slice of cornbread on each plate and poured us water. Then he sat across from me at his small round table with two chairs and a third pushed against the wall, and we ate.
He held my hand across the table for the second half of the meal. I ate one-handed until it was time for cheesecake, and he handed me a fork for my slice.
“You know, I keep thinking about how much I like you,” he said, his eyes on mine.
“I like you too,” I said with a smile.
“You want to go sit on the couch?”
“Dishes andthencouch?” I asked hopefully because an untidy kitchen meant a messy mind for me.
“Of course.”
Dishes took a while. I oversaw the washing, and since I’m thorough, it wasn’t quick. We chatted on and off about me being cleared to get back on the ice and about Dane’s work. It was the easiest thirty minutes ever. When we went to sit on the dark brown leather couch, we didn’t touch at first. Sable circled and lay down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Dane turned off the kitchen light, and the lamp by the couch was warm and steady. There was no buzz. There was no flicker.
“Can I sit closer?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He moved closer. His thigh was against my thigh. He laid his arm along the back of the couch behind me without putting it on me yet.
“Can I put my arm around you?” he said.
“Yes.”
He put his arm around me. I let my head tip a little, so it landed on his warm shoulder. His shirt smelled of laundry detergent and a very faint cologne that he didn’t wear at the station.
Then he said, “Hi,” against the top of my head.
“Hi.”
“Can I kiss you?”
I wanted a kiss. “Yes.”
He turned his head, and I turned mine, and he kissed me. The first one was soft and closed-mouth—a hello kiss—I kissed him back the same way. The second one, he tilted his head a little, as if asking with the angle of his mouth. I opened mine, and the kiss got longer and warmer and slower. I lost count of the seconds for the first time since the parking lot at Strike Zone.
